Page 86 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
He whispers, “God, I love you.”
My voice cracks. “Always.”
The scientist clears his throat again. Data flickers behind us. “How quickly can…?” he begins.
I give a small nod. “Now.”
That night, the extraction team assembles near the vault’s entrance. The corridor is silent except our boots on ancientstone and the hum of data bursts within leaning consoles. I key in commands while Dayn stands guard, his posture rigid and watchful.
“Got it,” I whisper as files cascade into the comm uplink. Deletion code follows, eating through decades of secrets with unyielding promise.
He watches me work. His jaw tightens. “Watching you rip apart your work—it’s brutal.”
I pause, every fiber of me trembling with rage and exhaustion. “Not thework. The twisted lie they built around us.”
He caresses my hair. “Then let’s burn it faster.”
We pull the keycard together. I insert it. He stands behind me as circuit breakers within the vault ignite miniature pyrotechnics across the terminal. The room floods with light. Smoke curls. Wires spark. Servers flicker and self-destruct. The machine labors beneath our assault like a wounded beast.
We bolt. I taste smoke in my mouth, warmth against my back. Dayn catches my arm. “They’ve sent guards.”
We wedge open the ancient double doors through cascading embers into the docking bay’s stale vacuum-cycled air. The strike team covers us. Ships thrumming. Alarms screaming. Fire pushing upward, lighting our backs with hellish luminescence.
Dayn loads me into the shuttle’s passenger ramp. Dark metal frames his silhouette. “Josie?—”
I twist around within the hatch. Sparks whirl like firefly storms. “We did it.”
He nods, face set. No words needed.
And as we launch from Obelus’ gravity well, the station collapsing behind us, I feel something shake loose in my soul—rage reborn into purpose.
Dayn folds me into the cockpit as we enter hyperspace. I lean forward, watching the stars smear into lines. “Now they can’t hide,” I murmur.
He reaches between the two of us, pressing his fingers gently to my lips. “Together,” he affirms.
I inhale—a fresh breath after cleansing flames. “Always.”
In the hush of the control center, we hold hands, silent yet unbreakable, as Obelus crumbles behind us and the galaxy tilts forward into dawn.
I wake in the semi-darkness of our shuttle’s bunk, tangled in Dayn’s arms, his breath warm against my ear. There’s no music tonight, no pretense of normalcy. Only the steady hum of life support systems and the faint thrum of hyperspace. We’re safe—for now—but sleep refuses us. He’s gripped my hand tight, knuckles white enough to leave a mark, and I can feel the weight of what we did today pressing against us, like a storm cresting on the horizon.
I break the silence first, the words soft as a promise. “What if it wasn’t just Dayn targeted—you know, by the Vortaxians? What if they wanted more?” My voice wavers, carrying every ounce of fear I’ve managed to suppress. The vault wasn’t just a tomb of secrets—it was a cradle of horrors. I still hear the static behind the screens, smell the waxiness of old plastic, taste the acrid burn of data-ash on my tongue.
He tightens his grip, but I’ve never felt more fragile, more exposed to the truth we found. “I keep thinking there are layers we haven’t peeled yet,” I say, tracing languid circles on his chest.
His voice is gentler than any lullaby. “We’ll peel them together,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone in this.”
I shift slightly, fumbling for courage. “Are you sure?” My voice cracks. “No matter what else they did—who they made me think you were before we met?”
Dayn hesitates. The line of his jaw tightens under the image inducer, and I realize he feels as exposed as I do. But he answers steady, grounding. “I don’t care who engineered what behind the scenes. Even if someone in their labs thought they could controlus by messing with our genes, they were wrong. Because right now, here,wechoose each other. That’s what makes us real.”
A warmth blooms inside me, radar chasing shame and regret away. He’s not dismissing the horrors—we both know they’re real—but he’s anchoring us in the only thing that matters:us. I press a kiss to his collarbone, tracing the scar that’s been our token of battle and survival. I feel his heartbeat echo beneath my fingertip.
“I love you,” I whisper. The words are iron and petals, brittle but true.
He folds me closer. “I love you too.” His lips brush my temple. “No secrets worth hiding—not from us.”
We lie that way, voices falling into a quiet cadence as we map out worst-case scenarios: what if Dowron didn’t secure the other vault floors? What if hidden data caches were left behind? What if we’re being watched right now? Each scenario is a thread that could unravel the fragile peace we’ve built, but we weave new promises in their place.
